


Bodyguard for Two

by Room_101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Diapers, Family Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pacifiers, Panic Attacks, Sexual Content, Slow Build Castiel/Sam, Underworld, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:42:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4602033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Room_101/pseuds/Room_101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's orders were simple. As one of the top bodyguards in the world, he was entrusted to protect a crime lord's son; Dean Winchester.</p><p>It isn’t long before Sam realizes there’s more to his assignment than protecting the kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Request

**Author's Note:**

> Please, do take into consideration that English is not my native language, thus mistakes may pop up here and there. :P
> 
> This story was sooo not planned. I was "strolling" around Youtube when suddenly I bumped on some videos of Misha Collins & his son cooking. What I saw was so adorable that I just couldn't help writing this fic. You'll see what I mean later on.
> 
> Comments and criticism are very much appreciated. ^_^

**Sam's P.O.V.**

'Why the hell did I agree to this nightmare?' I'm asking myself the same fucking question for like the 100th time today.

For almost a year I worked for the Winchester family and came to love every second of my time there. I grew so attached to them that the invisible wounds of my previous life just faded away.

Now, while I'm bleeding on the floor, I suddenly have the urge to tell you my story. 

My Requiem.

My story about how I met Dean Winchester, and how I came to be his Bodyguard/Nanny/whatever he commanded me to be.

I think I have some time before I lose consciousness for good so I'll better get on with this. This 'adventure' starts a little before my first meeting with him, though...

One Year Earlier

I used to work for a private security firm called Armed Guards Association or A.G.A. for the ones who are too lazy to say the whole name.

Our primary mission was the safety of the client which we ensured with state-of-the-art security services. "Safety" was a very broad-spectrum word for us and includes far more than protection from direct physical attack. 

All this is very nice, but let me make something clear; we are NOT your typical bodyguard company. We are literally the G.I. Joe of the Underworld. Yeah, yeah, you heard me right. We provide protection to all the mob bosses you could ever think of. Well, to whoever has enough Benjamins to pay for our services, that is. A.G.A.'s hit-men (sorry, _bodyguards_ ) are the best-trained pros in the world so whoever hired us, knew he was getting a first class Terminator.

Having already been promoted to an Executive Protection Officer, I had under my command a team of 5 lads who, if I may add, were exceptional in their job. They were intelligent, highly trained, vigorous, and loyal to their leader. 

Anyway, my team and I had just returned from a week's long babysitting (as we call it) of a KingPin in New York. I didn't even have the chance to take my coat off when our boss, Samandriel, aka "Alfie," summoned me to his office.

"Now, wait a minute," Balthazar said, taking up his cold bear and swallowing part of it. For the first time in years, he felt the itch of intrigue. "Start at the beginning."

Balthazar was in my team as well and acted as my Lieutenant.

Alfie sighed in exasperation and took his ciggy into his fingers. "They asked only for one person this time and I personally recommended Sam. He is to sign the usual contract but with some extra benefits. That piece of paper grants Sam what amounts to an unlimited credit account for as long as he live. Furthermore, if he dies, the money collected during his service is equally divided between his family and our company. If he takes the job, of course."

Balthazar slumped down into his chair. "Jesus," he said. "Who'd be silly enough to sign up for that? It sounds very fishy."

The boss let smoke dribble from his nostrils. "You're getting paranoid again. Every single time we have a request, you think they are up to something."

"We may be putting our friend and colleague in danger." 

"Sam, don't listen to this dude. He's freaking out like always."

Alfie and Balthazar glanced at an armchair in the corner of the office. Barely visible, as the only light in the room was Samandriel's desk lamp, were a pair of muscular, booted legs draped over the chair arm, and a hand that was quietly spinning the left boot's spur.

"After all, the contract is only for a month. We appreciate that you are the outstanding personage in our business. I have absolute faith in your abilities. Please be assured of that. We, and especially I, would never think of letting you go into a mouse trap."

"I understand all that," I said coldly still looking at my spur. "Though, perhaps it would have been better if you had consulted me before barging ahead with plans."

"But, really, I was just so confident that you would agree. Your gunslinger abilities are known to the whole Underworld. You could-" 

"Spare me the crude flattery, Alfie." I swung my legs back on the floor and leaned forward so that my face would be visible. "You haven't told me all the circumstances surrounding this silly challenge. I like honesty. I make a point of being straightforward. Why don't you?"

Samandriel crimsoned and nearly fell off his chair with the glare I was giving him.

"Well, here are the facts. Bartholomew was having coffee at his usual place when suddenly a stranger passed by and left an envelope on his table. He wasn't really startled, but he managed to spill some of his coffee onto the envelope. I'm quite sure that one day his curiosity will be the death of him because, bomb or not, he opened it and read the request."

Looking at me he continued. "For the duration of a month you are to be the personal bodyguard of a 31 year old guy. He is the son of a _very_ important person in the criminal world thus the request must be known by as few people as possible. Accommodation and meals are already taken care of and further details will be given upon your arrival to their estate."

"It certainly doesn't smell good" interpolated Balthazar.

"Oh, hush you."

"Look, Alfie," I explained. "I think that what Balthazar and I would like to know, in our quaint way, is who is behind this request?"

Samandriel hemmed and hawed, his behaviour seemed quite unusual regarding the task of answering the question.

"Fact is - uh - we - ah - didn't realize ourselves who was behind this job till after the contract was handed to us by the family's butler. I know, it's not like us to not know things, but the secrecy in this matter is on the highest level. The man behind this is-"

Alfie's voice petered out entirely and he gazed with rising consternation at me.

"No.3"

"Boss!" Balthazar nearly cried. "You don't mean to say - It can't possibly be that man. Not Castiel Winchester!"

"Well-" Alfie made a defeated gesture and hunched his shoulders like a man about to be overwhelmed by a storm.

Balthazar groaned in mortal anguish. "Of all people in the Underworld Sam has to guard HIS son?"

"Well," I stand abruptly and with something that can only be described as a cultured snarl I say: "all right, I accept the challenge!"

Balthazar is about to faint.

"And I can promise you, my friends that that sly Castiel Winchester is going to get his money's worth. He just hired Dirty-fucking-Harry!"

Samandriel paused to smile while Balthazar fell dramatically on a chair and started swinging a fan at himself.

Everything was going to be fine. Was it?


	2. The Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, whilst everyone was playing volleyball at the beach, I decided to lay low and have a nice sunbathe. The result? A tan for me and a new chapter for you. 
> 
> Enjoy! ^_^

**Sam’s P.O.V.**

An hour later, after I left Samandriel’s office, my '67 Chevrolet Impala was waiting for me at the parking lot of my apartment building. As always, I can't wait to drive my baby one more time. Seriously, if I could live in that car, I would. I throw my luggage in the trunk and get into the driver's seat.

It's several hours till I get to the Winchester estate so I might as well explain to you a couple of things. There are numerous ways of distinguishing the continents, but in the criminal world we count 5. Eurasia, Africa, America, Australia and Antarctica. In that particular order. Though each continent has its own bad guys, there are some specific families that are more important than others. At some point in history the 5 most powerful and wealthy Mafia families came into an agreement and decided that each one of them bosses should have a specific domain to control along with all the criminal activities there. A blood contract was sealed and the world was divided. Now, after all those years, the tradition continues with their heirs as all in the organized crime tremble at the mention of the 5 Kings. Castiel Winchester, as was previously mentioned, is No.3. The current King of America.

I always lived dangerously and thought that severe discipline was the price of survival. Thus, after hearing about who send the request I just had to take that job. It's like being a nobody (who I'm not but anyway) and having Quentin Tarantino personally invite you to star in one of his movies.

Hours and hours later when the sun is up in the sky and my watch shows 11.26 a.m. I drive into the main gate of the estate. And boy, am I surprised! 

I was a city boy, a city child, rather, to whom the country was an unexplored domain. Hence when I saw that place I thought there's been a mistake as no man can afford such an enormous residence.

As I drive closer and closer to the mansion I notice that it is surrounded on three sides by parks. Parks ladies and gentlemen! There are also at least 30 acres of gardens complete with statuary, lakes, small streams, skating areas, bike paths, 3 playgrounds, 2 pools and several fountains. Very attractive indeed.  
The closer I drive to the mansion the heavier the security gets. Seriously, there are so many Men in Black here that I won't be surprised if they are hiding in the bushes also.

A butler is waiting for me at the main door and I stop the car right in front of him with a drift. Dust is flying everywhere, but he just stands there and doesn't mind at all. Neither am I apparently.

"Hey there, old champ!" I say while I get out of the car and grab my luggage.

The weird looking penguin came closer and smiled. "Welcome to the Winchester mansion, Sir. I am Zachariah. Mr. Winchester's personal butler." 

I 'scan' the weird chubby fellow for a sec or two and then reply. "I wish to see Mr. Castiel Winchester. I believe that I am expected."

"Certainly, Sir. May I take your luggage?"

I hand him the bags and he says: "Follow me, please."

As we reach the door I place my palm of the wall and stare upwards. The butler turns around and as if reading my thoughts answers my unspoken question.

"The mansion's measures are 354 ft by 390 ft. It is also 79 ft high. Furthermore it has around 600 rooms, including 30 staff rooms, 60 royal and guest bedrooms, 69 bathrooms, 27 offices, a cinema, a gym, 2 libraries and 2 indoor swimming pools. Last but not least it has its own post office."

I nod and we enter the sumptuous lobby. Very well done in marble, beautifully furnished and decorated in an early Pennsylvania motif. 

"And what about the staff?" I ask looking around seriously.

"About 300 people work at here, including Mr. Winchester's personal guard, domestic servants, chefs, cleaners, plumbers, gardeners, chauffeurs, electricians, and two people who look after the 99 clocks."

"I'll need a list of names and daily schedules." I say coldly.

"Of course, Sir. I will have the documents sent to your room."

We stopped in front of an elevator and the butler turned around. "Your identity, please." 

I brought forth the card that was included in the envelope that Bartholomew received and gave it to the penguin. 

"Thank you."

He put it in the slot with his right thumb on the appropriate square. Entered a password and informed me that from now on I would be able to use the elevator and enter nearly all the rooms except the ones that have another password which the card won't be able to open.

After only a couple of seconds, the doors to the elevator opened and Zachariah said: "You are expected at the fourth floor, Sir. Room 512. As soon as you exit the elevator it will be the 3rd room to your right. I will take care of your luggage."

He pushed the button with the number 4 on it and left. The lift emerged on said floor and I walked about the long corridor in search of room 512.

Suddenly a voice called out, "In here." I shifted my shoulders in a shrug and walked into the room.

"You'll have to forgive me, but I was on the phone and couldn't greet you properly." said the voice again.

I blinked slightly at the office's opulence. I knew the Kings were wealthy, but this was on a whole different level. One whole wall, facing a terrace with a superb view beyond, was glass. The furnishings were a little on the ultra-modern side, and I was kinda taken aback by its femininity. It was hardly a mob boss's room. Could No.3 be gay?

At the far side, a man was standing and busily stirring the contents of a crystal mixing glass. He concentrated as though counting the exact number of turns of the long green swizzle stick in his hand. He looked over at me and offered a dazzling smile. "I guessed that a Martini would be in order, right?"

I walked closer to the bar counter and noticed that sitting on its top were an Imperial quart of British gin, whose label I recognized, and a fifth of French vermouth. 

'Excellent guzzle!' I thought.

"It sounds amazing," I admitted. "Uh, I had an appointment with you. My name is Samuel-"

"Sam," he said, smiling again as he poured drinks into two cocktail glasses. "I'm Castiel Winchester. It is an honor to meet a person so distinguished."

"The honor is entirely mutual, Sir."

He strode over gracefully, handed me one of the Martinis, and smiled again, devastating me. "Shall we toast for the police to stay corrupt and continue to serve our purposes?"

"I can't fight that." I told him.

We sipped, I taking him in all over again, not quite believing it. In real life, crime lords weren't so polite. Not to mention handsome.

"Please be seated, Sam. I'll have to confess I was really nervous. My baby boy was nearly kidnapped a week ago and I thought I was going to lose my mind." he said.

I sat on a couch and took another sip of the cocktail. "About eight to one." I judged.

"Seven." he told him while taking a seat himself on another couch near me. "My father's recipe. He was a fanatic. A perfect Martini had to be made just so. I believe he actually killed one of his friends because the man insisted on putting in an olive rather than a twist of lime rind." 

"Well, I can't fault him on this recipe." I replied as I leaned forward and put my half empty glass on the coffee table before us.

"I've read quite about you, Sam." Castiel's voice is uncharacteristically smooth and soft. "Went to Stanford, finished law school, currently employed by the A.G.A. and let's not forget your remarkable skills as a gunslinger. I'm surprised why I haven't hired you earlier." he adds.

I nod. "You've done your homework. Yes, I had a wonderful career so far." I respond while I drink the rest of my cocktail. It had been a lifesaver. My last mission was meant to be quite rough so the booze was off limits. Now I was wondering if he'd offer another.

My employer stands up and walks to his desk. He takes an I-Pad and while plopping back on the couch he hands it to me.

"My people have done a thorough background check as you can see."

'Indeed they have.' I think to myself. There, right in front of me, on that little screen all my life as a hit-man is displayed.

"So tell to me, if you please," I ask as I put the I-Pad back on the coffee table. "What exactly happened to your son?" 

"What happened you ask?" He put his own glass down, empty. 

"Once a week, and only if he behaves, I let him leave the premises. My baby boy usually chooses the zoo and thus the Head of Security, Mr. Singer, arranges for 2 bulletproof cars and 7 close protection officers to accompany him. Well, last week they went to that bloody zoo again and as soon as they entered, Dean got snatched." 

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Dean. That's my boy's name by the way. Dean Winchester." Castiel explains enthusiastically.

I nod and prompt him to continue.

"Well, they found him after five minutes or so, sitting on the cold pavement crying his eyes out, but the culprit was nowhere to be found. When they got back, my baby boy was inconsolable. He kept crying and screaming 'Witch' as I held him in my arms. We barely got any sleep. I stayed with him all night, you know. He just kept glancing at me with those sad green eyes of his and I thought I was going to die. For the first time in my life I felt so weak! How could I have been such an imbecile? I'm one of the 5 Kings for fuck's sake!"

His eyes were serious, and then suddenly his features softened as soon as he glanced at my drink. "Good heavens, I'm a terrible host. Could I give you a refill?"

I handed my glass to him and he went over to the ornate little bar. He brought the new ones in champagne glasses, so that they were at least doubles. I, of course, made no complaint.

He continued; his voice very sincere, "I couldn't bring myself to see him so unhappy again, so I consulted some friends and they suggested I should get a professional. A _real_ professional this time. I always knew about the A.G.A. and how their boys where the best of the best thus, without any hesitation I made my move and contacted you."

"I see." I said looking straight into his eyes. "I'll need to speak to-"

"You have my permission to interrogate whoever you think may have been involved."

"Thank you, Sir. That makes my job a lot easier." I take a sip of my drink and although reluctant at first, I eventually find the courage that I need and say: "You keep referring to him as your _baby boy_. Isn't he a little too old for that?"

"What do you mean?" Mr. Winchester curiously asked.

"I mean, for a 31 year old guy, a nickname such as 'baby boy' is rather awkward."

"What? 31?" he utters quite surprised. "No, no my dear Sam. There must have been a mistake. My son is 3 and a half years old."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did you find this chapter's ending? Was it okay? Damn... I'm not good with cliffhangers, am I?
> 
> Anyway, I have great plans for this story, but I do not want to rush it. As my mom says: “If you’re gonna eat a whole cake you better enjoy it as if you are in a TV commercial. Slowly.” ;P
> 
> Your comments and criticism are welcomed and encouraged.


	3. To War We March

**Sam’s P.O.V.**

Several moments passed, and I just stared at my employer.

“3 you say?” I ask quite astonished. “Are you sure? I mean, maybe you lost track of time.”

What the hell am I saying? I feel like my mind is going to explode. I’ve never protected a child before.

“I am sure I would have been able to recall if I had a son 31 years ago. Not to mention that if I really did ‘play doctor’ the _hardcore_ way then I should have been around 9 years old; which is impossible.”

“Then how com-… oh no.”

And then, suddenly, I remembered. 

The coffee stain.

“What’s the matter?”

I frantically shoved my hand in my pants pocket and revealed the letter that was included in the envelope given to Bartholomew.

I opened it for the first time since it was handed to me, while Mr. Winchester squinted beside me in order to take a look as well.

Tiny little stains were seen on several parts of the letter but only one caught my attention. It wasn’t 31, but 3 1/2 year old. The stain covered the slash and number two for good, so if someone didn’t pay close attention (like Alfie apparently) then he would be sure that the letter was referring to a 31 year old man.

Mr. Winchester started laughing. “Well, you got your answer Sherlock. It’s just a big misunderstanding.”

I looked like I could barely talk.

“Oh, don’t sweat it, Sam.”

“I think I have to refuse your request, Sir. I will send someone else from the company to replace me.”

He senses my discomfort, but nevertheless he chuckles. “Nope. It’s just too late for that I’m afraid. Besides it will be fun.” he says. "What I mean is, being my baby boy’s bodyguard is no namby-pamby business, but I’m quite sure you’ll manage.”

‘I really need to get hold of my thoughts,’ I think to myself. ‘He may be testing me.’

Mr. Winchester stared down at his shoes; thinking about what he could say; then he looked up at me again. "There is a particular kind of man I need. I don’t want a brainless King Kong that will cover my son from the bad guys, but a man that will walk beside him with confidence because he _already_ eliminated the bad guys. That man has to have a certain set of qualities. A rather special list of qualities, actually, and a long list. Moreover, he has to have them in a pretty exact kind of balance. I know that from experience. I thought any intelligent eager A.G.A.’s hit-man would do, but the moment I saw you I knew you would be just the right man for this job.”

I felt myself blushing, and I shook my head. "All right; why me?"

My employer smiled warmly. "Well, I'm glad you asked. Reading all the info about you is one thing, but seeing you in person is another.”

I knew it! That son of a bitch _is_ testing me.

“You are psychologically right, physically right, but most of all you have the ability to look at things in a certain special way.”

I raised an eyebrow. 

“Though I know you come from a company of pros, I’m sure only you have that unique ability. It seems to be fairly rare, that ability, to see things as they are and at the same time as they might have been. If that makes any sense to you. It probably does, because it may be that what we in the Mafia mean is the eye of an assassin. There are others who share the same “power” as you, but I won't tell you about them now. The only thing you must understand is that one of the 5 Kings trusts you, a complete stranger to the Family, enough to let you stay by his son’s side.”

That impressed me. 

All of a sudden, someone knocked on the door and without waiting for an answer walked in. A bearded man. He was very neatly dressed; except of the trucker hat. Seriously, who wears a hat like that with such an expensive looking black suit? Not to mention that his face reminds me of a farmer rather than a gentleman. Was he a hybrid?

As soon as he came near us he looked at me suspiciously.

Wow, scratch whatever I just said about him. I like him (Ew! Stop thinking in a lewd way. I meant as a person.). Suspicion means you must gain his trust for he will not give it so freely. If he doesn't trust someone easily... he is a pro.

Mr. Winchester snorted, “Stop looking at everyone as if they are here to kill me, Bobby.” He said standing up. “This is Sam. He's Dean’s new bodyguard.”

While he was stating my name to the aged man, I stood up to shake his hand.

“Robert Steven Singer. At your service.” said the hybrid with a smile.

“Mr. Singer is the Head of Security here and a close friend of mine.”

“Don’t ask me how I manage, kid.” he snorts. “If you see how this guy’s doting over Dean then you will definitely doubt No.3’s intelligence.”

"Mind how you speak to your superiors, Mr. Singer." 

“Yeah, yeah whatever.” 

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Singer.” 

"Oh, call me Bobby. After all, we're comrades in arms, we shouldn't stand on formality."

"Comrades in arms, eh?"

It seemed stupid to talk of anything else; a momentary silence ensued between us. But presently, as if that nice hurdle had already been leaped, Mr. Winchester nervously asked:

“So? Did he answer the door? Did he say anything about Sam’s arrival?" 

“Well,” The Boss and I exchanged a look. "Let's put it this way… Were the Achaeans welcomed happily by the Trojans during the Trojan War?" 

We both got the message.

Mr. Winchester ran a hand through his hair as I looked at him questioningly.

"Since I wrote to A.G.A. Dean has ceased to speak to me, no matter how I implore. You see, I already told him of your coming and he got really upset. I tried to embarrass him several times, I threatened to punish him, to take away his favorite toys, you name it; but he still ignored me.”

"Y' know," Bobby said truthfully to the crime lord, "The kid's quite a changeable person. Sometimes I think he's a bit difficult to fathom."

"Quite," Mr. Winchester agreed. 

I took a slow breath. "If your son wishes me to leave that’s one matter, but did you explain to him the reasons of my arrival? Though I understand that he is quite young, he should be able to grasp some basic information concerning his safety."

“I did explain to him that you were coming, but I didn’t reveal that you would be his bodyguard. We thought that it would be advisable to tell him that you are someone else.”

 _Someone else?_ That’s new.

Rather abruptly I asked, "Where is his room?"

Mr. Winchester face brightened, "On the first floor. I'll show you."

I took a sizable swallow of my drink, shoved the letter back in my pocket and let him lead Bobby and me back into the wide corridor and down three flights of black marble stairs to another long, unfurnished hallway illuminated by the sunlight from the large window on the far end of the corridor. We stopped before an oak door on which was clumsily glued a colored paper. ‘Quiet on the Set’ it warned. 

"Dean," called Mr. Winchester, somewhat loudly, "A friend is here to see you." 

There came a scuffling from behind the door, and then silence. 

The lock clicks and the crime lord signs in relief. He turned the handle and pushed the door open. 

The room was black, nothing visible, and I hesitated a moment before looking at my employer. 

"I was hoping you would come running into my arms, my prince. Daddy brought you a friend to play with. Would you like to meet him?"

It's quiet. _Too_ quiet. Never a good sign in my profession.

"Oh. Sorry, Sam. Introductions should not be made in darkness. I'll open the curtains a touch.”

All three of us walked in. Bobby stayed by the door while Mr. Winchester strode into the darkness. I stood… somewhere.

Thin daylight suddenly filtered into the room as heavy curtains obscuring the windows were pulled apart by the electrical curtain tracks. And that’s when I noticed him. There, in a far corner, was a timid young boy dressed in a combat army uniform and holding a paintball gun. He stood there; silent. His large green eyes never leaving me. I would have been amused if only he wasn’t glaring daggers at me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm getting better at this cliffhanger business. :P So, what do you think of Dean? Does he seem like a good boy? 
> 
> Your comments and criticism are welcomed and encouraged. ^_^


	4. The “Joy” of Our Meeting

**Sam’s P.O.V.**

Satisfied that the room was again filled with light, the mob boss removed his finger from the switch.

A couple of glances here and there and my calculations showed that the room must have been at least 130 ft long, 42 ft wide and roughly 49 ft high.

This was _not_ a regular child’s bedroom. This was a fucking ballroom!

To top it all, this place was a complete mess. No. Allow me to emphasize to you just how apocalyptic this room is right now. It’s like Disney, Marilyn Manson and Renaissance threw up on it. I mean it. Nearly all the wallpapers had characters from Disney animated movies dancing around with Manson. 

Furniture was mainly made out of wood; walnut I presume, quite rich in style, with many inlays of ivory, gold, and marble. They were relatively grotesque which was very weird for a child’s bedroom. From where I was standing the ensuite bathroom was not very visible thus I cannot describe it. I guess that it must also be part of that weird ‘marriage’ between cartoons and other precious elements.

Approximately in the middle of the room was a huge tank which was stabilized on four weird looking gargoyles made of marble. I later came to know that those gargoyles were actually different poses of Sullivan, aka “Sulley," from Monsters, Inc.

Other than that it’s literally like a battlefield of broken toys, piles of books, discarded clothes and… 

“Is that a freaking snake on the floor?!” I demanded nearly jumping on Bobby’s arms.

“Oh, don’t worry it’s jus-”

“Hey!” The little boy threw his gun away and came storming towards us before gently taking the nearly 4 ft California kingsnake into his arms. “You scawer Pepito!”

“That thing has a name?” I shouted again.

The boy frowned at me, turned around and headed for the glass tank in the middle of the room. Apparently, and to my great disappointment, that Amazon Jungle was not just part of the kid’s science project or something, but _Pepito’s_ personal palace. The kid wasn’t tall enough to reach above the terrarium so he just drugged a small footstool that was nearby and stood on it placing his pet inside and carefully locking the glass lid. He jumped from the stool and came back standing right in front of me with his face inches away from my legs. He was glaring daggers at me for several seconds when suddenly he looked at me from head to toe (never backing away) and asked:

“Daddy you bought me Gojiwa?”

Castiel awkwardly coughs and says: “Don’t be rude, my prince. This is your new nanny. His name is Samuel.”

Either my ears have gone out of batteries or I’m just going crazy. Did he just say I’m his new _nanny_?

“Ehh, excuse me Sir but-”

“You!” says the kid loudly poking at my right thigh “Wewe not given pewmission to speak”

“Dean!”

“Bad Gojiwa.” 

Through gritted teeth I mumble looking down at the boy. “May I have permission to speak?”

“Yes, you may.” 

Suddenly, Mr. Winchester’s phone rang. He read the message on the screen and turned to me, "You will have to excuse me gentlemen. Duty calls. Anyway, if you are to get acquainted with Dean it would better be in my absence." he said and walked away.

As my attention was on him I didn’t look at the kid who, apparently offended by something, lashed out his "claw" and snatches my wrist; nails digging deep into the veins of my forearm. I keep very still.

“You,” looking at Bobby as well “ruined my scene.”

“Eh?- _Ahhh_ …” So that’s what the ‘Quiet on the Set’ sign was for. “I-I do apologize. What film are you shooting now?”

“Predator” said the boy proudly; never letting go of my wrist. “I’m Dutch!”

 _Pre-fucking-dator_?! No wonder the snake was left to crawl around. Dean was making his room look like a jungle. Smart kid-No!… No, scratch that. That’s not something to give him credits for. He could have hurt himself.

Leaning down a little bit I say to him, “Don’t you think it’s kinda dangerous to play in the dark while a snake is crawling loose, little guy?”

Bobby facepalms himself.

All of a sudden the kid turned around, stomping several paces away from me, grabbed the fallen paintball gun and holding it high shouted: 

“Dis is my BOOMstick… and I’m NOT afwaid to use it!”

Boy that kid has watched a lot of R-rated films.

Seconds after his declaration and without any further notice, he pointed the gun at us and started shooting. 

Both Bobby and I tried to take cover. I dived on the floor and hid behind a fairly large toy box. Bobby on the other hand was facing a problem. He quickly opened the walk-in closet’s door but as soon as he tried to step in, a huge mountain of stuffed toys came piling in upon him. Though the paint found its target a few times on his pants, Bobby still tried to hold the pile of toys and cover himself at the same time. Unsuccessfully, of course.

“Fucking hell. He went Rambo again!” growled the man.

“What did I do this time?”

My interlocutor didn’t answer right away but took a quick look at the direction of the boy and dived gawkily beside me.

“The right question is what you _said_ this time. You never call him ‘Little.’ He freaking hates it. He really does like being babied a lot, so when he thinks that people mock him for that he goes from zero to sixty in like two seconds.” he explains while taking a peek from the other corner of the toy box.

“I don’t know if I should blame his age or the fact that he inherited some very crazy genes from his Grandpa.” I grumble.

“Oh, and wait till you meet the other little rascal.” Bobby says patting my shoulder.

“Holy Chewbacca, this kid has a sibling?” I ask quite shocked.

“Yep.” he says barely avoiding a shot. “He just turned 6 a couple of months ago. So if that…” he turned his gaze on Dean “…idjit is a spoiled prince slash a wanna be Dennis the Menace, then his older brother is Darth Maul reincarnated.”

Suddenly Dean ceased fire. Bobby and I looked at each other and slowly tried to catch a glimpse of the kid. Dean was reloading the gun.

“Maybe we should grab him now that we have the chance. The reloading is going to take him some time.” I say picking from the corner.

“Are you nuts? Stay where you are!” Bobby half-shouts, half-whispers. “If you wanna do well with the kids in this family then you must learn to follow a simple but extremely vital rule.”

“And what’s that?”

“You _always_ let them win.” he clarifies looking straight into my eyes. ”If we go over there and grab that toy from his hands it will be like we show him that he’s not the boss of us. Don’t worry, he’ll eventually get bored and come here stating his victory.”

The colorful shots start flying around again and we try to squeeze ourselves further behind the box.

“So what about the other brother?” I ask. “Do I have to look after him too?”

“Trust me kid you don’t want to associate with The Canterville Ghost.”

“The what?”

“It’s what the staff around the estate is calling him. He usually tends to keep to himself and has this weird habit of walking around the house reading a book in the middle of the night.”

“Maybe he has insomnia or something.”

“Sure. And I live in the Playboy Mansion and come here to work only because I’m a masochist who enjoys having paint all over him.” he sneers.

“Ha-ha. Very funny. Are you always so amusing?” I say in an annoyed tone.

“No, just for you honey.”

I rolled my eyes the other way.

“Well, maybe everything would have been jolly good if only 4 servants haven’t gone missing during their night shifts this past few months.”

“4 people are nowhere to be found and Mr. Winchester didn’t bother to call the cops? What about their relatives? Didn’t they wonder why a member of their family didn’t return from work?” I ask astonished.

“Are you kidding me, dude? And you call yourself a pro. You’re now working for a billionaire Crime Lord and you think he would allow these ‘incidents’ to go public? If you have so much money as he has, everything and _everyone_ can be swept under the carpet.”

True. But still, for a kid to be responsible for the disappearance of those people? These accusations seem more like gossip than real facts.

“What’s his name anyway?”

“Whose name?”

“The older brother’s.”

Bobby smirks and says, “Michael.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one who guesses (and not googles it) from what movie is the phrase that Dean says when he grabs the paintball gun, will have an extra cookie. *holds chocolate cookie* :D
> 
> As for the Gojira part... Having a good command of the Japanese language, it kinda frustrates me to call a Japanese fictional character with its American name (Godzilla).
> 
> Anyway, how did you find Sam & Dean's first encounter? I really wanted to make it look like a battlefield. :P 
> 
> Your comments and criticism are welcomed and encouraged. ^_^


	5. Superhero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is inspired by the song “Superhero” by Smash Mouth.

One Week Later

**Sam’s P.O.V.**

And so life went on. One week on the job. The world I live in now consists of never-ending tantrums, getting my face grabbed while I sleep, experience bedtime & bathtime struggles, regularly being kicked in the knee while playing football, watch brainless cartoons, getting face painted, being forced to play with Lego and generally listen to and of course obey the constant demands of my young master.

At least I never get bored. It is impossible to be bored in Dean’s company. He is too sparky of a child for that. No, my mistake. Dean isn't really much of a child. More of a monster. Demon. Rosemary's Baby. 

Plots, plans and new ideas come flying in his head and I cannot stop the Armageddon. Vandalism is always present wherever we are and he considers art is everything and everywhere. Even he just draws a simple circle. He’s in this tough age, I realize that, but still he really gets on my nerves. I don’t have to be a genius to figure out that he wants to control me like everybody else. He acts out and ignores what I want him to do because he’s seeking attention. And when can he get faster attention? When he is being a ‘bad boy.’

Whenever it’s time for his nap all hell breaks loose. And even if he by some miracle goes to bed, I’ll probably try to relax in the armchair nearby. My eyes get to rest for two seconds before he jumps on me and declares what a lousy nanny I am.

Once he cracks or breaks my personal belongings, he will just say, _"Oupps! I didn’t mean it."_ Though when I so much as touch something of his he goes ballistic. You want an example? Dean has a 100% obsession with the fictional superhero Batman. Thus he carries around an action figure of him 24/7. Try to so much as hint that the figure should stay on the counter while he takes a bath and your funeral will be a couple of minutes later. But shouldn’t it be the other way around? I mean, me freaking out about my guns for example. Oh, I haven't told you about that, have I? Up till now I carried my two Colt revolvers in a cowboy like gun holster. Now, because of Dean constantly trying to grab one of them, I purchased a double shoulder holster. Kinda uncomfortable but what can I do.

Not to mention that the movie “Home Alone” is now officially on the ‘Don’t you dare watch it’ List. For the obvious painful reasons that I have personally experienced. Because let’s face it, that film has a few serious issues. Or should I say just one, a big one; that Kevin McCallister is a sociopath. You know… that deviant 8-year-old who’s able to concoct a murder trap way, way too easily. And keep in mind, this was before the Internet, thus every single idea he had in the movie came from his own twisted little mind. So, no. I’m not gonna reward the little monster, aka Dean, by letting him watch that killing manual. I know; I may sound harsh but the kid is like a sponge. He will learn all the traps by heart and then I’ll be the stupid victim who’ll have to face the consequences. It’s quite ridiculous you know. I came here to protect him, but who will protect me from him?

Today, I woke up kinda abruptly. Bloody nightmares. Never leave me in peace. It doesn’t matter though; I never really sleep well. Got one eye open, always. 

Those were my first thoughts for today as I yawned and lazily propped myself up onto my elbows. The bloody clock shows 07:12 a.m. and I know that in 20 minutes or so the little terror is going to wake up. Enough time for a quick shower I suppose.

My plans were interrupted though when the door slowly opened and a drowsy Dean came in; dragging his favorite blanket behind him. Batman didn't accompany him when he was in bed; that was Fluffy's (the blanket's so not mainstream name by the way) job.

“Good morning, Your Royal Highness, prince Linus van Pelt. Haven’t seen you a while.”

Dean didn’t reply. He just sluggishly crossed the room and crawled under the blankets of my bed to lay next to me.

I cannot understand that kid. I’m sure even Sigmund Freud wouldn’t be able to explain his constant mood swings. He can go from a Hannibal Lecter miniature to a cuddly happy-go-lucky boy in just a sec. Nuts I tell ya.

We had an argument yesterday. He got really mad at me for I made him take a bath. He also found it to be a very stupid idea because he was _only_ covered in mood. The result? I was mad, Dean was furious and his bathroom looked like the Genesis flood.

“Who’s Linus?” the boy asked as he tweaked his nose.

“Your twin brother I suppose.”

“No, not twue. I only got Mikey.”

“You already have told me that he doesn’t like to be called that way.”

“It don’t count when he is not here.”

“Well, technically yeah.”

Satisfied with my answer, Dean threw his legs over the side of the bed and tiptoed to my bathroom.

“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?”

“Have ta wash. My face touched your pillows.”

I rolled my eyes and stretched out my tired muscles. A couple of extra minutes in bed won’t be bad. Shoot! I forgot to tell you about Michael. Well, haven’t seen or heard him actually. I’ve spent an entire week here and still not a single sign of him anywhere. Dean won’t tell me anything about him. He just says that Michael is myscurious (mysterious for everyone else) but still a very good big brother. I sneaked out once and wondered around the corridors at night. Found no one. Disappointed I returned to my bedroom and as I was about to open the door I could have sworn I heard a roar echo through the corridors. Creepy.

After 5 minutes (which seem like a million years to me) of the kid being in the bathroom I start to panic. I mean, what the hell, has he managed to plant a bomb or- oh. Shit! Playtime is officially over. I should probably go check on him. 

My bare feet carry me dutifully to the bathroom and I knock on door "Hey, kid. Quit staring at yourself in the mirror. That ain’t a beauty salon. Get the hell outta there."

No reply. 

Okay, Sam, get a grip. Do not get all worried about what he's up to in there. 

I try to open the door. Locked.

I am totally not freaking out!

Ladies & gentlemen, it’s time to go Bruce Lee all over this varnish-coated motherfucker. Don’t worry, I got this. It's just me and a few inches of wood. My foot can totally handle that. Right?

BAM!

After the blow there is only mumbling. My mumbling.

"Argh! Shit! Hijadeputathatfuckinghurt!" All the while referring to the door.

Dean unlocks the dreaded tree part as if nothing happened and casually walks to me.

“What are you waiting for? Huwwy up so we can go hab breakfast.”

10 minutes later we enter his bedroom. As always, at nine we eat a magnificent breakfast brought to us by a staff member. When I’m on the job I tend to eat quickly and away from the person I protect, but Dean insisted that whenever & wherever he ate I should be with him as well. Thus after we filled our bellies we tried to go to the nearest playground.

Key word: Tried.

Halfway to the door I slipped on one of Dean’s toys. Again.

“We should do something about your toys.” I say while I rub my head.

“Daddy, wowks to make lots o’ money to buy me toys.”

“That’s exactly why you should appreciate his effort and not scatter them around your room. Haven’t we watched Toy Story together? Were the toys in Sid’s room happy?”

“I-I am not mean to da toys like him.” he said pouting.

“Oh, yeah? And what was that Action-Man doing in your snake’s-”

“Pepito’s!”

“Okay, fine, Pepito’s. What was Action-Man doing in Pepito’s tank?”

“He wanted to play. You wouldn’t let me pway Predatow with him any more tha’s, tha’s why I gave him Action-Man. He was lonely.”

“Don’t try to weasel out of this by making me take pity on your cylindrical shaped beast. It’s your responsibility as a kid to play nicely with your toys and then put them away in some box or something.”

“But-”

“No buts.” I interrupt him with a stern tone. “As long as you keep refusing to tidy up your room, or at least help me clean a little, I’ll make sure your Daddy won’t let you go to ToysRUs ever again.”

“That’s not fair!” he exclaims. “I wish you an’ Daddy were like Dora’s pawents. They let her go wherever she wants.”

“Who’s Dora?”

He immediately looks up at me with the most shocking expression ever. 

“The Explodead, of course! Don’ you watch any carwoons? And here I thought you were an educational pewson.”

“You mean an _educated_ person” I correct him.

“Luffy, Rrruffy… He’s gonna be de Piwate King anyway.” Dean says while waiving his hand.

This kid…argh.

“We really need to work on your ‘r,’ bud. You keep messing up the words.”

The boy barely huffed and walked away.

As Dean run around in the playground, I was sitting on a bench talking with Bobby. Fortunately my young master gave me permission to do so. Our conversation didn’t last long but as Bobby left he told me:

"You've got to have something that will make him want to listen to you, watch you, or even be like you. Like a role model or something."

"Great," I said sarcastically. "And how do I accomplish that?"

“Well, you’re the one who’s with him 24/7, so you have to figure that out.”

“Great. Juuust great.”

30 minutes later and I had my solution. I piece of paper in my hand wrote:  
First Part: Get his Attention  
Final Part: The Discovery

Thanks to all the known and unknown Gods of this world, and to my fat salary of course, I was able to make a few phone calls and have the requested package delivered to me, here at the estate, just before nightfall. I was quite nervous, but the kid didn’t notice anything.

I deliberately let Dean play longer than usual for I wanted him dead tired. He followed me to my room as soon as I put him to bed twice thus I couldn’t and wouldn’t risk something like that tonight.

I’ve just dried Dean’s hair when suddenly he squirmed out of my grasp and made a beeline to his bed. 

“Tiwed.” he mumbles as he tries to put on the same sweaty shirt he wore before he went to take a bath.

"Don't you know better than to sleep in that shirt? Please, take it off." I scowl as I give him a pain of pjs.

"Yes, Sammy." 

"What did you just call me?" 

The boy looked up, blinking sleepily. "Don' ya know your own name?"

Now it was my turn to glare.

“ _Never_ call me ‘Sammy’ again.” 

“Why?”

“Bad memories. Now, do stop with the interrogation and get into bed. It’s getting late.” 

I was about to open the door when I heard a tiny whisper, “Sam?” 

“What is it?” 

“Have you eva seen a supahewow?” the boy asked curling under the blankets.

“Mhh,” I answered. “A few times.” 

“You did? Whewe?” 

“New York. You know… the place where nearly all the bad guys try to destroy or take over. Lots of different heroes came to the rescue and I was there to witness the battles.” 

“Were you frightened?” 

“Who, me? Nooo,” I said waiving my hand in the air. “It was thrilling to see them all, and a little eerie, but I wasn’t frightened. You know why?” 

The boy just shook his head.

“Because I have a secret identity too.” I said winking at him.

Dean’s mouth formed a big ‘o’ which kinda amused me. First part of the mission… complete.

“Go to sleep, kiddo.” I turned around and closed the door behind me. 

Several hours later I got up and opened my closet. In the far corner was the package. I smirked. "Let’s play."

I put on the custom-made suit that I purchased and went out to the corridor. There, I deliberately stomped around. That surely woke up Dean for he swung his door open and… that’s it… he froze. He saw Batman. The Dark Knight himself. His hero was right there in front of him. Oh, goody. Show time! I just have to try and pretend that I haven’t noticed him. That is quite hard though. He should have seen the kid’s face.

I try to keep myself from laughing and stride seriously to my room which by the way is actually next to Dean’s. I entered and left the door slightly ajar. As I predicted, curiosity overwhelmed ‘my little fan’ and he quickly tiptoed along the corridor to see through the crack in the door.

“Fff… Tonight’s been tough. Joker really did a number on me.” I say loudly enough for Dean to hear.

Fucking hell wearing that suit is like being roasted in the Brazen bull. Let’s get on with the show and get out of it.

“Okay, let’s put _my secret job’s_ clothes in the washing machine.” I announce as I try to take off my cape. “Don’t want them all bloody for tomorrow’s patrol.”

Would I lie to Dean and create this silly charade only for that little bugger to behave? Hell yeah I would!

The moment I take off my cowl though and the boy sees my face, I think he’s ready to pass out. I can’t turn around so I’m not really able to tell if he’s exited or utterly shocked. I just keep going.

Even after I put the suit away and got into bed, he was still looking at me from the door with something close to adoration.

Final part of the mission… com-fucking-plete!

From that day onwards, Dean tried really hard to ‘shoo his naughtiness away’ as he called it and his attitude towards me changed little by little. We had our ups and downs but he would listen to me every time I made a comment about his behavior. You know, he even sneaked into my closet the other day while I was taking a shower. When I got back I found him sleeping there; curled up with the suit. The most awesome part, though, was that he no longer held Batman’s action figure in his hand. Instead, every time we walked side by side he would curl his little hand around one of my fingers and hold on tightly. Now, he knows. _I_ am his one and only superhero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this chapter. ^_^ I didn't have so much free time this week as I was preparing for my annual vacation trip to New York (Hence why I mentioned it in the chapter :P ). Anyway, I'm going to stay there for about 10 days and then I'll get back to uploading chapters. 
> 
> Do NOT worry, I'm not abandoning this fic or anything. I'm planning to write more than 20 chapters for this story and most of them are already 'in development.'
> 
> As always, your comments and criticism are welcomed and encouraged. :-)


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